


Big

by BananaStickers



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Romance, Size Kink, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 04:01:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers
Summary: Matt’s always heard the phrase “he makes me feel small” as a bad thing.  It's something people want to avoid, like some jerk is making you feel insignificant.But Jamie, well - Jamie makes Matt feel small.  But not insignificant.Just the opposite, in fact.





	Big

**Author's Note:**

> A small break from my usual angst, I was inspired to write after seeing [this photo.](https://i.imgur.com/y3zqTni.jpg) Enjoy!

Matt knows you have to give something to get something, but trades still hurt. Even now in December, three months after the 2017-2018 season started, there continues to be a Flower-shaped hole in the locker room. Matt’s still young, so maybe someday he’ll get used to his teammates leaving in free agency or expansion drafts or trades, but not yet.

So when it’s announced that Jamie Oleksiak is joining the team from Dallas, in return for a conditional pick, Matt likes the move already. Nobody’s leaving. That’s the best kind of trade.

Matt’s sitting in his stall when the handlers bring Jamie into the locker room, and Oleksiak has this wide-eyed look that _everyone_ gets when they first come into the Penguins’ room. Matt had the same look on his face too, that first day from Wilkes-Barre. Hell, he probably looked that way for the first _month_ from his call-up, still unable to quite believe that he was on the same ice with Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, Phil Kessel.

He doesn’t realize how tall Jamie is, not at that second while he’s sitting in his stall. Matt stands with a smile, ready for a handshake, and he’s used to guys’ eyes following him up and up and up as he stretches to his full 6’4 height. Only Dumo can match his size in the locker room, so pretty much everyone looks up to Matt.

Jamie doesn’t. Jamie keeps his head tilted down to look at Matt while he’s sitting and keeps looking down when Matt stands tall. He’s got three inches on Matt, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but when you’re always the tall man in the room, it is. It’s _a lot._

“I’m Matt,” he says, a little breathlessly because his heart is oddly racing all of a sudden and he’s not exactly sure why. “Or Muzz.”

“Jamie,” he says with a genuine smile and a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Matt says. He wants to say something else, but then Tanger is there wanting to meet the new recruit of the D corps he considers _his_ , and Dumo is giggling at the size difference, and Schultzy is already inquiring about his favorite beer. Matt lets them go, lingers his gaze a little on Jamie before turning back to his stall.

~~~~~

They win their first game with Jamie in the lineup, a 3-2 shootout against the Jackets. It feels good to win; they’ve lost five of their past seven. Most of the boys grab him in hugs, and Matt feels huge like this, not only in his oversized gear but also with guys like Sheary and Sid wrapping their arms around him (the roster lists Sid at 5’11, but that’s bullshit, and everyone knows it). Jamie smiles big and wide but doesn’t give a hug, just taps Matt on the helmet and skates off.

It’s dumb, but he’s a little disappointed.

~~~~~

They spend New Year’s eve on the road, with a game at Detroit, which they lose. Matt’s in net and lets in four.

Someone, Matt’s not sure who, has found them a private room in a restaurant to spend NYE proper in, and the Pens are clustered in this place that looks like it’s been open a hundred years and never remodeled. The food is fucking fabulous, however, and the waitresses are cute and attentive, and there’s lots of liquor. All in all, not a bad place.

The ceilings are surprisingly low, especially the doorways. Matt can feel his hair brush against the top of the doorway when he heads into the bathroom, that close to having to duck.

Jamie’s bent over at the sink, washing his hands, and smiles when he sees Matt. “Hey Muzz,” he greets. “How are you?”

“Would be better if I didn’t play like shit tonight,” he says, gliding over to the urinal.

“Nobody played good on D. All of us got at least a -1 tonight. We gotta be better for you,” Jamie insists, and even though that’s what defenseman are supposed to say, what they’ve been _trained_ to say, it still makes Matt feel a little warm and fuzzy.

“Are we a lot different from Dallas?”

Jamie’s finished washing his hands, but he hangs around the small room while Matt washes up. “A lot different,” he laughs. “I mean, hockey is hockey, but. Tyler and Jamie are a lot different from Sid and Geno. Dallas is way different from Pittsburgh. But that’s not a bad thing. I like it here.”

“Just wish we’d be doing better,” Matt says. They’re 2-and-3 since Jamie arrived, not exactly tearing up the league.

Jamie offers a soft smile, almost shy. “We will be,” he says, and unlike his smile his voice is bold and confident.

He has to duck out the door when he leaves, but he does it gracefully, a well-practiced move, a dip of his big shoulders.

~~~~~

Jamie gets his first Penguins goal the next game, a 5-1 drubbing of the Flyers. Matt replaces Jarry in the third as Tristan tweaks his wrist, and Dumo goes out in the second after being hit in the head by Giroux, so the hug line is a little low-key. Still, Jamie is one of the first ones there. He still doesn’t give Matt a real hug, but this time he rests his head on top of Matt’s helmet, pressing them together while he pats Matt’s shoulder. It’s the first time Matt can feel a weight on the _top_ of his helmet, pushing down. “Great stuff, Muzz,” Jamie grins and pulls away as Hagelin crashes into him, pressed to his chin.

~~~~~

Jamie scores his second less than a week later against the Bruins, the Penguins’ second tally of the night. In the third period Jamie ends up slashing Marchand on a breakaway, and a penalty shot is awarded, which Matt stops. They win 6-5 in OT and move into the last playoff spot in the East. The hug line is jubilant, but Jamie’s smile is tight and he doesn’t say a lot as the locker room laughs and chatters around him.

Matt’s pulling on his tie when he can feel someone pressed close, and he glances behind him to see who it is. As he always does, he tilts his head down as he looks, expecting to be the tall one, but instead he ends up staring at a dark blue tie. It’s Jamie, so he readjusts and tips his head upwards to meet his serious expression.

“I fucked up,” Jamie says. His eyes are steel blue, intense; Matt’s not sure he noticed them before. They’re beautiful.

“What?” he asks, because he doesn’t know what the hell Jamie is talking about.

“That penalty shot. I could have lost us the game. I mean, it’s why Dallas traded me,” he says, and his face instantly pinches, like he didn’t mean to say that last part and is regretting it.

“But they didn’t score,” Matt says, turning around and setting a hand on Jamie’s arm. Even through the suit, he can feel the thickness of it, marvels at how his hand can’t span around Jamie’s arm like it can with a lot of people. “And you scored. So it all worked out.”

“I’ll be better for you,” Jamie promises, and hugs Matt, arm going around his shoulders for their first real embrace. The hug is surprisingly gentle, like Jamie’s used to accidentally crushing people. His beard tickles Matt’s temple. And then it’s over quick, too fast for Matt, and Jamie’s giving him one more smile and then heading out the door to the parking lot.

~~~~~

Matt gets a concussion in early March, off a shot in practice. Just a flukey thing, and concussions are always scary, but this one seems to be healing nicely. By the time Dallas rolls into town on March 11th, he’s skating again, and almost ready to take full shots.

Hanging around the locker room before the game, Matt can tell Jamie is _pumped_ to play his former team. Most of the Penguins’ D corp is homegrown, knowing nothing except the Penguins, but Matt can hear Justin Schultz giving Jamie a quiet, intense pep talk. Schultzy knows all about facing a former team that maybe didn’t treat you right.

Matt watches from the press box as Jamie scores the go-ahead goal against the Stars, and he’s pretty sure he can see Jamie’s smile even from the rafters. Still, he doesn’t crash into his teammates in a frantic hug like most of the guys do; he waits patiently for everyone to come to him, and offers head and shoulder taps to all. Gentle.

The Penguins move into first in the Metro with a 3-1 win, and Jamie’s goal ends up being the game winner. Matt meets him down in the locker room and hugs him; Jamie is soft and pliant in his arms, even though he’s grinning. “You can hug me harder,” he says. “I won’t break.”

“You have a concussion,” Jamie points out, and okay, that’s fair.

“Next time,” Matt says, and Jamie gives him a strange look, but then Schultzy gets Jamie good with a rolled up towel and he dances off before he gets smacked again, laughing.

~~~~~

Matt’s first game back is an ugly one, a 4-1 loss to the Islanders. Four of the six defensemen take penalties - Tanger, Dumo, Olli, and Jamie - and they’re all apologetic back in the locker room. Dumo grabs him as Matt’s walking by, sweeps him into a tight hug. “We fucking sucked,” he says, and they’re both half out of their gear, Under Armour soaked through and it’s sort of gross, but Matt likes hugs so it’s fine. Dumo nudges Matt over to Tanger, who is definitely _not_ okay with cooling sweat but offers a perfunctory hug with a little grimace. Olli steps up next, sighing an apology into Matt’s shoulder with his own hug, and then Matt’s at Jamie’s stall.

Jamie’s sitting, pulling off his elbow pads, and somehow he looks tall even though Matt looms over him for the moment. “Well?” Matt asks, only half-kidding, and Jamie looks up in surprise.

“Uh?”

“Apology hug,” Dumo insists, throwing a roll of tape at Jamie, and Matt’s eternally grateful that Dumo is the cuddly type.

“Oh,” Jamie says, and Matt thinks maybe he goes a little red, although it’s hard to tell; they’re all red-faced from exertion, still. Jamie stands up, and up, and up, and wraps an arm gently around Matt’s shoulders.

Too gently. “What did I say last time,” Matt murmurs into Jamie’s ear. “Hug me like you’re sorry, eh?”

“Sorry. I _am_ sorry,” Jamie huffs, and then he does pull his other arm around Matt and squeezes. It’s a tight grip, and it feels like Jamie is surrounding him, the acrid tang of sweat and a faint waft of his deodorant and some other kind of earthy smell that Matt really likes, with his face suddenly pressed to Jamie’s shoulder. He can’t place it, but he likes it.

“That’s more like it,” Matt says when the hug breaks, and Jamie looks momentarily speechless.

“It wasn’t too hard?”

“No way,” Matt says, and Jamie’s smile finally peeks out a little.

~~~~~

They lose in the playoffs, the first time Matt has experienced it at the NHL level. It fucking _sucks._ It’s the finality of that puck going past you in overtime of an elimination game, knowing you don’t get another chance, knowing your summer starts now.

The end-of-season party is so different from the past two years, which had been raucous celebrations. This one is quieter, low-key. Still a lot of smiles and laughs - the room is full of veterans who have experienced countless playoff losses, more than wins - but nothing like the boundless joy of being champions. Matt ends up drunk at the end of the night, along with most of the rest of the team. Eventually, he gets bored of watching Olli and Schultzy bicker like an old married couple and shuffles outside.

He intends to head towards the bonfire, where he can hear Rusty and Guentz laughing over something, but a sound draws his attention towards the porch. They’re at Mario’s house, and he has this old-timey porch swing, and someone’s on it, rocking back and forth all by himself.

That someone is _big,_ and Dumo’s not known for quiet introspection by himself, so it doesn’t take much guessing who it could be.

“Hey,” Matt says as he gets closer, and he can see Jamie’s teeth in the dark, although he’s not sure whether it’s a smile or a grimace.

“Hey,” Jamie says in return, and he scoots over a little, which Matt takes as an invitation to sit down. The swing doesn’t even protest at Matt’s weight; he knows it’s ironic, that he’s the second-tallest on the roster and weighs just about as much as 5’8 Sheary. Not like Jamie, who pushes 260, a full 85 pounds heavier than Matt.

He wonders what it would feel like to have Jamie on top of him, pressing him down to the bed, making him feel like the small one for once. It’s not just the height; Jamie’s huge in every way. Matt’s torso is probably the size of Jamie’s thigh, and he thinks about that thick thigh pressed between his legs, grinding against Matt’s hip, his mouth covering Matt’s, pushing all other thoughts about playoff losses and failures out of his head. His entire _world_ could be Jamie right now, too big to think about anything else, if only Matt were underneath him.

It’s not something he really lets himself think about - they’re teammates, after all - but he’s drunk right now, and he _wants._ So he shifts closer to Jamie, presses against his side.

Jamie sucks in a breath but doesn’t protest. Matt smells that earthy smell again, like he did months ago in the locker room, and he realizes that’s just what Jamie smells like. God, he smells good. “Put your arm around me,” Matt asks, more of a command, and Jamie does, a heavy weight curled around his neck and shoulders. “Sorry we couldn’t get it done this year.”

There’s a long beat of silence before Jamie speaks. “Sometimes, like...I think about you guys winning the Cup the past two years. And us losing it this year, and thinking, what’s different? You haven’t had a ton of roster changes. Except - “

“Don’t even fucking say it, Jamie,” Matt says, nudging him in the side. “You had nothing to do with this loss. We lost as a team. Hell, we had Flower last year, and this year we didn’t, so. You think it’s my fault?”

“Oh god, _no,”_ Jamie says, and he sounds horrified that Matt would even think it.

Matt gets where Jamie is coming from, because sometimes he _does_ think that, seeing Fleury moving on with the Knights while the Penguins spiral out, and hearing people say that Matt needs Marc-Andre to win. But it’s just as stupid as Jamie assuming he’s one of the reasons the Penguins lost.

“If I even think you’re blaming yourself, I’m gonna be pissed,” Matt promises.

“I won’t,” Jamie says, and he sounds sincere. He sighs, melting into Matt a little bit. “I just - we had some bad years in Dallas. We can be great here. I want more, you know?”

Yeah, Matt thinks as he looks up at Jamie in the dark, just barely visible. He knows that feeling for sure. “I want more, too,” he says, and he thinks this is it, he’s going to kiss Jamie, but then Horny and Hags bust out onto the porch, drunk and giggling, and the moment’s lost.

~~~~~

For the first half of the summer, Matt loses touch with Jamie, and most of his other teammates too. He enjoys the beach and his friends and feels like something big is missing and throws himself back into training. About halfway through the summer, Tanger sends a message to the goalies and defensemen about _off-season training._ Tanger is a well-known health and exercise nut, and Matt looks over his routine and rolls his eyes. No fucking thank you.

The text comes through an hour later. _Is he always like this?_ Jamie asks.

 _Tanger is always extra,_ he responds. _In another life, he’d make the best drag queen._

 _O M G,_ Jamie sends back, and it somehow comes out that both Matt and Jamie secretly watch RuPaul’s Drag Race. The idea of Tanger in big hair and a corset (they both agree Tanger would be a corset kind of guy) and heels is _too much,_ and they talk and laugh about it for hours.

Then they talk about something else, and they just...don’t stop talking. By the time training camp rolls around, they have about twenty different inside jokes. They hug on the first day, and it’s a _real_ hug, and Jamie tells Matt that he missed him. Matt missed Jamie, too.

On the second day, they have lunch together. Well, Dumo and Olli and Tristan are there, but it’s still a good lunch.

Tanger explodes on the third day of training camp over rookies fucking up the drills. “Oh my _God,”_ he whines, the last word coming out like a pouty _gawwwwd_ with his French accent, and he sounds just like one of the queens having a fit about a wig problem. Jamie doubles over in the corner, trying to hide his laughter, and Matt giggles openly, trying to concentrate on Phil coming down on a breakaway. It doesn’t work; Kessel snipes it top-shelf. Even then, he can’t stop grinning.

~~~~~

The Penguins have an extended road trip through Canada in October, and they end up visiting Banff for both an unusual practice and some team-bonding time. Matt would like to spend some time with Jamie, but Derek Grant extends an invite to hang out and Jamie is apparently hitting the town with some of the other boys, so they go their separate ways on Saturday.

Matt ends up on top of Sulphur Mountain with Derek. It’s beautiful, and he has a great time. He likes Derek a lot.

But Derek’s not Jamie.

He catches Jamie after dinner that evening. “Hey,” he says. “What are you up to tomorrow?”

Jamie shrugs, stifling a yawn. “I got some morning plans with Guentz and a few other boys. Nothing in the afternoon though. You?”

“You ever been up Sulphur Mountain?”

They end up on the gondola the next day, heading up the mountain together. The view is just as good as it was yesterday, and they laugh and chat the whole way up. After taking in the tiny chalet at the top and doing a little hiking, the sun is on its way down when they get back to the gondolas. Behind one peak, the sun is setting; the moon is coming up across the way. “Shit, it’s beautiful,” Matt says.

“Yeah, it is,” Jamie murmurs, but when Matt glances back, Jamie’s not looking at the peaks or the view. He’s looking at Matt.

~~~~~

They spend a lot of time on the road in November, and they lose a lot. Matt’s not on his entry level contract anymore, which means he doesn’t have a roommate; normally he likes that, but his room feels big and empty after those losses. He hears the rumors and the grumbling, that he’s washed up at 24 years old, or maybe just a flash in the pan fluke, and it was a mistake to let Fleury go, should have been _him_ instead. He doesn’t want to be alone.

He takes a chance and invites Jamie over to watch The Good Place. As it turns out, he’s never seen the show, so they binge watch it from Matt’s Netflix account. It becomes sort of a calming post-game ritual: Matt sets up his laptop, and Jamie arrives about fifteen minutes later, smelling like mint toothpaste and a hint of cologne and that earthy scent under it all. Matt leans back against the pillows and Jamie curls next to him, wearing a hoodie and flannel pajamas and cozy socks.

Every time the credits roll, he thinks he should just shift over, climb on top of Jamie and kiss him senseless. He’s so close that Matt can feel his body heat. He’s _right there._

But Matt’s already screwing up this season, and he doesn’t know what he’d do if Jamie rejected him. That’s just what he needs, to suck on the ice and then create this big awkward rift in the locker room. God, he’d never heard the end of it, from the beat writers or the fans or management.

Still, Matt notices Jamie smiling at him a lot, even when he thinks Matt isn’t looking. They make each other laugh in a month that’s been pretty joyless so far, and sometimes Jamie puts his big hand on Matt’s thigh and leaves it there for the entirety of the episode. When that happens, it’s hard to pay attention to whatever they’re watching through the warm weight of Jamie’s palm.

He waits for Jamie to make a move, but he doesn’t. Matt doesn’t, either.

~~~~~

The Penguins put Matt on IR at the end of November. He probably _could_ battle through it, but - with the way he’s playing, the Pens don’t want him to. Fuck, he doesn’t really want to either.

It’s bittersweet watching Casey DeSmith kick it into high gear and start turning the ship around for the Pens. He likes Casey, wants him to do well, _needs_ the team to do well. But now there’s a so-called goalie controversy. It seems Matt can’t go a single year without one. Sully reassures Matt that it’s his net, he’s still the #1, and Matt tries to emulate Fleury and be cheerful and supportive of Casey.

He sulks at home, though. He’s injured and mentally fried and when he’s laying in bed alone, sometimes his brain insists the team would just be better off without him at all.

Jamie texts him in early December, wanting to come over tomorrow, their next off-day. Matt sort of just wants to lay in bed all day and maybe play some video games and not even brush his teeth, but he knows that’s not good for him, so he agrees and sends off his address. He and Jamie have never hung out at home, not yet, even though they spend nearly every evening on the road together.

His doorbell rings at 8-fucking-AM and Matt realizes he and Jamie never actually talked about _when_ he’d come over, but what the fuck, seriously. He’s hoping maybe it’s just a package as he drags himself out of bed and throws on pants, but no, Jamie’s at his door, looking put-together and smiling, and holding takeout.

It’s from Pamela’s, and it’s pancakes. Matt doesn’t like traditional pancakes, but Pamela’s - a local diner - makes these delicious crepe-like pancakes filled with strawberries and brown sugar and Matt is crazy for them. But the wait for Pamela’s is usually at least an hour, so he rarely makes the trip. Jamie knows all this, they’d talked about it over the summer, but apparently he remembered.

“Don’t say you’ll ruin your diet,” Jamie declares as he sets the food down. “You’re the skinniest guy on the team.”

“If only Tanger could see us now,” Matt says dryly, and Jamie laughs.

They eat pancakes - slightly cool, but still delicious - and Matt scrounges up the rest of his OJ and gives it to Jamie, and pretends like he doesn’t want any. Then they play video games for hours, and decide to order takeout for lunch, and then watch Netflix and it’s late afternoon by the time Matt looks at the clock again. “I guess I should go,” Jamie says, sounding a little regretful, and Matt wants to tell him _stay, stay the whole night, preferably in my bed_ but he doesn’t.

“I really appreciate all this,” he says instead, and Jamie smiles and gives him a hug. They’re good hugs now, not too gentle like they were before, the perfect amount of pressure.

“You’d do the same for me.”

“Of course,” Matt says, and he means it.

~~~~~

Matt’s on his third game back from injury when Jamie gets into a fight with Tom Wilson. He gets clocked and loses the fight, blood dribbling down his face, and he heads down the tunnel.

He doesn’t come back.

Concussion, Matt hears in the intermission, and he cringes with sympathy. He knows how tough they are, how unpredictable. They win a tough battle 2-1; Matt makes sure of it. No chance in hell he’s gonna let Wilson take out Jamie and then beat them on top of that.

They go on a road trip, but Matt stays in touch. Jamie’s not his usual self over the texts and messages. He sounds miserable, and in pain, and Matt wonders if he’s battling his own demons as the Pens keep winning without him in the lineup, keeping the goals low, two goals against in three games. Matt knows the gnawing feeling of watching your team succeed without you.

 _I’m coming over_ , he messages when the Pens get back into town for Christmas break. _Send me your address._

Jamie lives in an apartment just outside of downtown. It’s nice, but it’s plain, like someone who isn’t quite sure whether he’s staying yet, which is silly because he just signed a big off-season extension. There’s no tree, no decorations, no nothing. Matt wears his hideous Rudolph sweater that he loves so much, and brings Chinese and a wrapped present. Jamie’s eyes bug out at the sight. “Muzz, no,” he says, but Matt waves off his protests.

They watch TV while they eat, and Jamie’s uncharacteristically quiet. “Are you doing okay?” Matt asks.

Jamie frowns, staring at the remnants of fried rice on his plate. “It just sucks. You have good days and bad days and...it’s not like a broken leg where you know your timeline. Like, they think I’ll probably be back early January, but you just never _know_ , right?”

“You gotta take care of yourself,” Matt says. “And let others help take care of you, too.”

Jamie’s eyes go a little wide, still staring at his plate. “I’ve never had anyone to take care of me.”

“You’ve got me.” Jamie seems speechless, mouth flapping open and closed a few times, so Matt continues. “You wanna open your present?”

Like most hockey players, Jamie loves golf, and Matt got him these nice woolen head covers and a hand forged ball marker with the Canadian flag. He unwraps the gift and stares back and forth between his presents. “Aw man, Muzz. Wow. These are fucking _awesome.”_

“Glad you like them,” Matt says with a smile, because by now he can tell when Jamie’s being genuine and he definitely is.

“But…” Jamie’s smile drops off, and he frowns at Matt. “I didn’t know we were - I mean, I didn’t get you a Christmas present. I’m sorry, I haven’t really been up for shopping, and - well that’s no fucking excuse, there’s _Amazon - “_

“Jamie,” Matt cuts him off gently, scooting next to him on the couch. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I have to…”

“Jamie,” Matt says again, and he’s not sure if it’s because it’s Christmas, or Jamie’s hurting and it’s _Matt_ that’s here taking care of him, or if he’s just sick of pretending they don’t like each other, but he takes his shot. “Look, if you’re gonna give me a present, you know what I want. And it’s not on Amazon.”

Jamie blows out a long, nervous breath, gingerly setting down his new gifts on the coffee table. “Muzz. Matt,” he murmurs, turning to look him in the eye. It feels like forever, trapped in a long moment while Jamie stares at him before he finally reaches out, cups his hands around Matt’s face and kisses him.

That earthy smell Matt likes so much, Jamie tastes like it too, like rich coffee and dark chocolate. Matt gets his hands in Jamie’s shirt and yanks, and probably they’re moving too fast but it feels like Matt has wanted this for a year. He doesn’t want to wait for anything, not anymore. They get hands under clothes, Matt twisting off Jamie’s shirt and his festive sweater rucked up to his chest as Jamie palms a warm hand along his ribs. “I want you so bad,” he mutters roughly, and Jamie groans.

“You have no idea,” he breathes against Matt’s mouth, kissing him again. “I want everything.”

“Bedroom,” Matt demands, and Jamie finally pulls away.

His bed is huge, fit for a 6’7 man, and they end up making out on top of the sheets. Jamie’s on top, and Matt’s so into it that at first he doesn’t notice that Jamie’s propped carefully up on his knees and elbows, hovering sort of awkwardly. “What are you doing,” he finally asks. He doesn’t want to break the moment, but he has to know.

“I’m too much,” Jamie says, and he tries to chase Matt’s mouth again but Matt won’t let him.

“Jamie.”

“I am,” Jamie says, sitting up. “Look at me, Matt. Just look.”

Matt shakes his head, reaches for him. “I’m not some tiny thing you’re going to crush. I _want_ this, Jamie. I want you, all of you, and I don’t want you to worry about being gentle. That’s what it always is, isn’t it? You’re worried.”

He can tell by Jamie’s expression that he’s correct, and there’s a long beat of silence. “I gave my teammate a concussion,” he finally says. “In juniors. He scored, and I came up for a hug, and his head snapped back against the glass, and…”

“How tall was he?”

Jamie shrugs, mouth a thin line. “5’9, maybe.”

“Am I 5’9?”

“No, but...Matt, I don’t want you to feel _small._ You know? There’s just a lot of me, I know that.”

“It’s not that I want to feel small.” Matt grabs for Jamie’s hand, and it somehow fits so well, like there’s no height difference at all. “Jamie, it’s that I want you to feel _big_. Because you make me feel huge. Like the tallest guy in the world, when I’m with you. So I want you to press me down and be as big as you make me feel. Besides, I bet you’ve got something else that’s pretty big, too.” Matt wiggles his eyebrows, and Jamie’s concerned expression finally relaxes as he laughs.

“It’s proportional,” he grins. “You wanna see?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” Matt says, reaching for Jamie with his free hand.

This time when Jamie goes down, he covers Matt’s body with his own. And yes, he’s heavy, but it’s _perfect,_ this big weight on top of him. Matt feels safe. Secure.

 _Small_ , but in the best way.


End file.
